Page 22 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

“Yes, but still,” Lady Worsley insisted. “What a terrible thing to have happen to a bright, up-and-coming socialite like yourself. I do miss you terribly at my gatherings, but as you said, the pressures of a marchioness’ title are simply beyond your knowledge.”

She wanted to leave, turn immediately on her heel and storm back to the carriage. It would be horrifically embarrassing, yes—to give Lady Worsley the petty win she was trying to wring out of her—but Thalia had already gone through the upheaval of her social reputation.

If she could, she’d avoid reliving the experience. Unfortunately, the new marchioness seemed hardly ready to let her go that easily, and as such, Thalia was trapped.

“Certainly, Lady Worsley. I’m afraid I would have little time to accept any invitation you would have sent, regardless.”

“Oh, of course! I’m sure Whitechapel has kept you quite…” Lady Worsley pursed her lips, clearly holding for dramatic effect. “Busy, as of late.”

A few conspiratorial whispers flooded the table as more ladies produced their fans. Not that it entirely hid their voices from Thalia; they hadn’t even the decency to completely cover their lips.

“But a woman has to do all she can in this world, yes?” Now it was the marchioness’ turn to produce a fan, and she wielded it with a deft hand, gently fanning the tightly-wrung curls against her perfectly porcelain face.

“We hardly judge you, Miss Sutton—I find it quite inspiring how willingly one may throw away their ego to keep themselves afloat. And with you approaching the age of spinsterhood—why, it’s better for those without prospects to learn to care for themselves.”

“I wholeheartedly agree, Lady Worsley.”

Thalia had never watched so many pretty faces grow pallid so quickly. She felt an arm loop through her own, and a glance upward revealed the face of the Duke of Stonewell, having seemingly appeared from the very air behind her.

He was positively frigid to look at, expression stone-cold as his jaw remained set in a perpetual, disapproving scowl. The only note of color on him revealed itself as a soft-pink pocket square and tie, matching his sister’s dress exactly.

His sister’s—Thalia glanced to her opposite side, finding Charlotte hanging on her arm as well. Her blushing-rose dress flared out at the side, as if she’d just hurried a great length to meet her, and while her face was far more inviting, her tone left plenty of room for one’s imagination.

“Oh, Lady Worsley! I didn’t think I’d see you and your lady friends today—that spot of sickness has simmered down at the estate, then?”

Every woman at the table swiveled to the marchioness, her mouth slightly agape. She snapped her fan shut, scrambling to recover with a grimace of a smile. “It… it has, Your Ladyship. Thank you again for… your concern.”

“Gracious, but of course! I would hate for anyone here to catch their death.” Her emphasis on ‘death’ sent a shiver up Thalia’s spine; Charlotte truly was a Harding, through and through. Just as terrifying as her brother, perhaps even more so, what with how effortlessly she slipped between social and personal roles.

Of course, the absolute killer look on the duke’s face wasn’t preferable, either. The duke held fast to Thalia’s arm, yet still made sure to gently grasp around the splint hidden beneath her opera glove.

“Well, ladies, I apologize for interrupting your little get-together.” Charlotte leaned her head against Thalia’s shoulder, sighing as loudly as polite society would allow. “We’ve got our own soiree to get back to, so if you’ll excuse us?—”

“—you’re welcome to join us, Your Ladyship!” Lady Worsley quickly shooed at a few ladies with her fan, trying desperately to make room at her table. “I—I would hate for you to walk all the way back to your spot without offering some form of refreshment. Please—if only for a moment! I would be a poor hostess if I didn’t at least try.”

Her voice caught in her throat, and she visibly swallowed as the duke’s face remained unchanged. Without a word, he turned and began to walk away, Thalia’s arm still entwined in his while Charlotte offered an apologetic grin. She soon skipped after the pair, and as Thalia glanced over her shoulder, she watched the whole of Lady Worsley’s table seethe quietly at their supposed hostess.

“Wasn’t that fun?” Charlotte asked, and Thalia thought she saw the duke suppress a smile.

Then again, she couldn’t be sure. The next minute, he was a man made of stone. And she was a woman… well, intrigued.

CHAPTER11

Charlotte continued to laugh loudly once the trio were well out of earshot, having returned to their own personal spot just past the brush line.

She’d long since kicked off her shoes and dipped her legs ankle-deep in the gentle stream that wound past them, giving their grove a delightful ambiance alongside springtime’s songbirds.

And, though she greatly appreciated her hostess’ help, Thalia remained at her spot beneath a large, shady oak, helping to unpack the picnic basket across the blanket spread out long before her arrival.

“Oh, but did you see her face, Thalia?” Charlotte grinned, giving the stream a kick as water sprayed across the air. “Like an old lemon tart molding away in the back of the kitchen—and she’s such a busybody, minding your personal business as if it were her own!”

“You certainly aired her personal business for all to hear,” the duke commented lightly, having found interest in a bed of wild clover that he’d plucked and begun knotting together on his lap. Thalia found herself occasionally distracted by his work, uncertain if she’d ever see such a wildly incompatible picture again in her lifetime.

“She started it,” Charlotte retorted. “And Father always said if you’re going to start a fight, you best be ready to…” Her voice trailed off, suddenly very interested in the stream’s reflection as she twirled a loose curl of hair nervously around her index finger.

Thalia dared a glance back at the duke, whose face hardly seemed any different than usual; stone-cold, unreadable, carefully neutral so as to not betray his thoughts. But something clearly had spooked Charlotte, which rightly terrified Thalia herself.

As such, she decided to change the subject as best she could, lifting a plate of salmagundi and trying very hard to keep her voice even. “I’d be rather upset if we didn’t enjoy this meal your kitchen staff made for us; let’s eat, shall we?”

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